Ten Miles from Nowhere
by animalbowling
Summary: Harry and Draco are transported to an island where they meet...odd things. Unfortunately, they're trapped!
1. Ten Miles from Nowhere

Disclaiming is a fun and noble thing to do. The characters of Harry Potter are, and always will be, someone else's property.

**Ten Miles from Nowhere**

* * *

As soon as Harry's head stopped spinning he jumped to his feet and fearfully glanced around, turning in circles to get the 360º view. Yes, the trees, the ocean, the sand, rocks, everything was just as he remembered it being. He panicked, and nearly fainted. Glaring at the other occupant of the tiny island, it was all Harry could do to keep from committing his first real murder.

"You idiot, Malfoy," Harry screamed. "You've hit my panic button!"

Draco could be excused for being a little slow on the uptake, as he'd just been hurled from one spot on the globe to another without the slightest warning. Well, besides Potter's giant mouth screaming 'Noooooo', like some sort of B movie moron. Now you mention it, Potter was still screaming, didn't he have volume control? Or, was he some sort of mentally deficient robot with a broken knob? Draco shook his head—he really was wandering into strange and inappropriate tangents lately.

"Your what, Potter?" Draco drawled.

"For the _war_, you moron. I had an emergency portkey, and _you_—because you're a giant git, activated it!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Pothead, I can activate the portkey to take us back."

"Yeah," Harry sneered. "How are you gonna do that? With rocks? Or maybe, you can do it with that useless stick you're holding."

Draco looked at Harry with some fear for his sanity. "What _are_ you on about?" he finally asked.

"THERES NO MAGIC ON THIS ISLAND!" Harry shrieked. "It's for my pro_tection_, so there's no way for us to activate anything. We can't leave! We're here until someone comes and gets us with a new portkey. You really are a moron."

By this time Draco had begun to feel the first vestiges of panic. "What sort of a blathering IDIOT makes himself a hideaway without an escape route!"

"Well," Harry sulked, "Dumbledore and I hadn't quite finished setting it up yet had we, I didn't think I'd need it until the war actually _began_. But then, I didn't count on idiotic interference."

Draco was shaking his head furiously. "No, no no no—the very _first_ rule is that you _always_ have an escape. You _never_ go into a situation where there is no escape. Never. Never never never."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Relax, Malfoy. Dumbledore will come and get us as soon as he realizes what's happened."

"Oh?" Draco screeched, "and when will that be? On the second of never? How is he going to know that you weren't just kidnapped or something, how is he going to know that you're the sort of boy scout that carries his emergency portkey with him everywhere! You've never been that smart! Why would you start now? That portkey should be tucked away somewhere in your room, just where you can't get to it when you really need it."

Harry snorted. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he snarked.

Draco pouted. "You don't deserve my confidence." He looked around despondently. "Where are we anyway?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "Technically," he said, "this place doesn't exist. Dumbledore and I created it with this ancient spell that Hermione found in the Ministry's archives."

Draco grunted. "That's rather impressive really."

Harry looked up in surprise.

"Of Dumbledore," Draco clarified. "I've no doubt you didn't do anything but hang around and whine about the exact blue that you wanted the sky to be."

"No coconuts," Harry mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I hate coconut. I insisted there not be any."

"Right," Draco sighed. "So what _is_ on this stupid little sandbar?"

"Well, there's a hut on the other side. I'm not sure why we portkeyed to this side—we were supposed to land in front of the house."

"Oh, spectacular," Draco said, "we're on a defective imaginary island."


	2. Grains of Sand

_**Chapter 2: **_

_**Grains of Sand**_

* * *

There was sand—strange white sand with purple specks—in every crevice of his body, Draco was quite sure of that. Who in their right mind made purple sand? But of course, Dumbledore was never in his right mind and he had made this wretched, hot, place.

"If this bloody island was made especially for you, why the bloody hell is it so bloody hot?" Draco asked.

"Do you ever _bloody_ do anything but whine, Malfoy? You whine about your daddy being in jail. You whine that I get preferential treatment. You whine about it being too hot, and yes, I heard you whine about the sand being purple! Just stop it! Stop mumbling, stop whining, and shut-up!" Harry screamed, kicking up more sand than usual in his fit of pique.

"Jeez Potter, what kind of bug flew up your arse and made a home?" Draco smirked. "I bet it was a special creation of Dumbledore's eh? The 'Harry Potter ass-munching beetle,' yeah?" Draco laughed. "Is it purple?"

Harry sighed. Why did he have his portkey on him when Malfoy had attacked him? Why _hadn't_ he absentmindedly left it lying on his bed, or on the robes that he'd worn the day before? And what were the _fucking_ odds, that Malfoy would say _that_ at the same time that he pressed (well, punched) the portkey? It was ridiculous, and so unlikely…yes; it was so unlikely that it must be fate. Though it was fate that hated him in an awful awful way.

Harry grinned, well, fate could hate him if it wanted, but he wasn't about to brood all day—not when there were plenty of Malfoy's around to torment. "Malfoy," he asked, "why did you call me Sugarplum?"

Draco laughed condescendingly. "I did _not_ call you Sugarplum. Are you faffing insane? Or…is that one of your little fantasies—you and me all snuggly, I call you Sugarplum, you call me God?" he raised an eyebrow.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You activated my portkey. You _had_ to have said Sugarplum, that was the activation word."

Draco was getting increasingly loud. "Well you must have said it then, ya nonce. There's no _way_ that it was me. I was pummeling you for Christ's sake! I hate you!"

"And I hate you," Harry answered calmly, "but the fact remains that we are here, and so someone—you—must have said…"

"Oh shut the hell up, Potter!" Draco screamed, stomping down the beach ahead of Harry.

Harry snickered. Draco had kicked a lot of sand into his face on his way past him, but that scene had definitely been worth it. Of course, he knew Malfoy _had_ said sugarplum, and he knew why, he just wanted him to _admit_ why. Sniggering to himself he trudged through the hot sand in search of the boy, who had disappeared behind a copse of trees. Harry had to admit that Malfoy did have a point about one thing, it was too hot. He was sure that he and Dumbledore had set the temperature to no more than 80°, and it was at least 90° right now.

Harry was startled out of his reverie when he rounded the group of trees and came face to face with Malfoy, wand out, hatred glaring in his eyes.

"Malfoy, I already told you that magic doesn't work here, so unless you're planning to poke me with that—it's useless." Harry cursed himself for giving Malfoy ideas.

Draco's smile was cold, and cruel, as he pulled his other hand out from behind his back. In it, he held a coconut. Harry gasped.

"You also," Draco sneered, "said that _your_ island doesn't have coconuts, and has a shack. Clearly," he giggled menacingly, "_this_ island has coconuts, and no shack. So it stands to reason that, _perhaps_, magic works here as well."

Harry glanced back and forth from the coconut, to Malfoy's wand, to Malfoy's smirk, then back to the stupid, creepy, furry, coconut. He grimaced, and reached for his wand as fast as he could. Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough.

"Impedimentia!" Draco screamed the leg-locker curse.

Harry flailed, until he realized there was no need. No magic had come from Malfoy's wand. They _were_ on his island, but…

Draco pouted. Damnit! Couldn't anything ever work out for him? Did he _always_ have to make himself look like a complete berk? He stared at Harry and scowled. Stupid Potter, this had to be all his fault. Deliberately, he put his wand away. Then, he threw the coconut at Harry's head as hard as he could. It made a satisfying conk, and he smiled in pleasure. That is, until Harry leapt at him and tackled him into the sand.

"Geroff of me you stupid bastard, you stupid bloody bastard get your…"

"Rasafraking no good slimy Slytherin bastard throwing a coconut at a man when he tells you he hates them. You're just such a...Foook!" Harry screamed when Draco made contact with a more tender part of his anatomy than his head.

In retaliation, he slammed his elbow into Draco's corresponding bits and pieces. Both boys shed a few tears, and lay panting in the sand side by side. Harry had unfortunately landed face to face with the brown stringy coconut, and he sighed for the plight that was his life.

After ten minutes, Draco had grown tired of lying in the sand. He decided he had been wrong before about it being in every crevice, there was one that it had missed then, but it was there now. He could imagine his beautiful skin was probably marred by thousands of tiny purple specks that he would never be rid of. He was ruined for life. Sighing, he sat up and glared half-heartedly at Harry's back. The stupid git was lying face down in the sand; he was probably breathing purple into his nose.

"I thought your bloody island didn't have coconuts," he said bitterly.

"It doesn't," Harry sighed. "Apparently, these are coco-nots."

"What?"

Harry sat up and picked up the bane of his existence, the round horror of his day, and showed it to Malfoy.

"They're labeled?" Malfoy shrieked. "What kind of tree produces labeled fruit? This place is so stupid!"

"I've a feeling it's only going to get worse," Harry sighed.


	3. Dearthy Day

Grazie for your comments! I love them all!

**_Chapter 3:_**

**_Dearth-y Day_**

* * *

"It's just," Harry whined, "you'd think that the man would understand that it's not just the taste of coconuts that I hate. It's the sight and the smell and their disgusting little bodies, and how impossible they are to open, and how they always make people in movies who live on deserted islands live off of them."

"That's because they're generally the only bloody thing there, Potter. But thanks to you, we don't even have that."

"There's plenty of food in the hut," Harry waved towards the house-type structure that they had finally gotten to the right side of the island to see.

"Plenty for how long, you Moron? There's no telling how long we'll be here."

Harry scrunched his nose at Malfoy. "We'll probably only be here for a couple hours, a day at most. My friends, for one, wouldn't leave me here with you."

Draco scoffed. "Maybe they want you stuck here with my hot body so that you'll loosen up some. Honestly Potter, how did you get so tightly wound?"

Harry ignored Malfoy in favor trying to flick some of the sand out of the cuffs of his trousers.

"Why do you reckon they never have a scene where the stranded person has to figure out if it is a coconut or it isn't?" Harry asked. "Because, you know, they don't really look like their little brown furry selves when they come off of the tree…"

"For God's sake, shut-up about the coconuts!"

"Coco-nots."

"Whatever."

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "Malfoy?"

"If you ask me about that sugarplum thing again, then so help me, I'm going to use my wand in ways that Olivander never intended—which is saying something, because that man…"

"Ewh…"

"Yep," Malfoy said tightly, "so just shut your mouth about it."

"Aye, aye," Harry saluted.

Draco grunted. "How big is this bit of turf anyway? It feels like we've been walking all day."

"Half an hour."

"What? We're half an hour away from that shack?" Malfoy gestured towards the horizon.

"No it's only been half an hour, but if it makes you feel better, you could whine about it."

"Oh shut-up."

Harry turned his head to hide his smile. "Course, that half-hour is only counting since you had your little episode where you found the coco—"

"Ok, ok! Let's just…let's not start that rant again." Draco shuffled his feet, accumulating small sandboxes in his shoes. He sighed. "Why do you think we showed up on the wrong side of the island anyway?"

"Dunno, Dumbledore and I must have miscalculated the portkey."

Draco looked at Harry in disbelief. "You could have ended up in the middle of the bloody _ocean_. At least," he frowned, "the make-believe ocean…which might not be as dangerous…"

"Oh, it's a real ocean," Harry said.

"What? I thought we were on an imaginary island?"

"Well the island isn't really fake, it's just—new—and it's in a real ocean. I mean, it had to be somewhere real." He gestured expansively. "This is the Caribbean. So really, it's a sea." Harry looked thoughtful. "But yeah, that was a bad mix-up about the portkey. I don't understand how it could have happened. It's not like _I_ charmed it; Dumbledore set it."

Draco rolled his eyes. "He's not infallible, Potter."

Harry glared at Malfoy. "He wouldn't be flippant about my safety."

"Oh, obviously not. I mean he's gone to all the trouble of creating you this fabulous inescapable island—which, have I mentioned? Is bloody hot! Not only that, but he indulged you and left it coconut free, which means… food free—and not only that, but he's stuck you here with me by making your activation word…" Draco trailed off and blushed.

The beginning of Malfoy's speech had started to get Harry angry, but when he had babbled on into a discussion of "the word" as Harry had come to refer to it in his mind, he was amused. "Making my activation word what? Such a common word?" Harry snickered.

Draco scowled out to sea, and they trudged on interminably towards the shack that he was sure was beginning to behave in a very 'Through the Looking Glass' kind of way. "What sort of food do you have?" he finally asked. "I'm starving."

"How can you be hungry? We'd just come out of lunch when you attacked me."

"Yeah, well, I eat a lot. Get over it."

"But you're so thin."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Have you been scoping my waist, Potter? Or, maybe you were staring at my arse and my thin-ness was just in your way?"

"Maybe you've got a fucking tape worm."

Draco's smile turned into a sneer. "You're much thinner than me, though I must say for sheer quantity of food Weaselby has me beat. In fact, I think he eats more than me and Crabbe and Goyle all together. Do you suppose he got his tape worm from the swine they raise in their 'house'?"

Harry glared down at the sand and refused to rise to the bait. Luckily they'd gotten close enough to the shack that he could put on some speed and beat Malfoy there. He did, and slammed the door and locked it.

"Potter! You let me in this bloody shack you asshole!"

"Go find your own fucking shack, this one's mine."

"Oh grow up, you git. There's _not_ another one."

"How do you know?"

"Potter! I will not yell through this door at you! Open up, or I'll…I'll…"

Harry opened the door a crack. "Huff and puff and blow it down?" he asked.

Draco heaved a frustrated sigh.

"That's the spirit," Harry said. "But I think, you'll have to put more force behind it if you really want to accomplish…"

Draco pushed his way into the hut and slammed the door behind them. "Shut-up. And you really must stop annoying me because I can't keep saying shut-up all the time. My voice will get stuck in that pained tone."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Get out," he said, pushing Malfoy back towards the door as he opened it.

"No. Potter, stop it. Where the hell do you think I'll go?" Draco said, the panic barely creeping into his voice.

"I don't care where you go, but you're not staying here with me. You're an awful person…and there's no telling what you'd do while I was sleeping."

"Pfft," Draco scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself."

Harry continued to glare and try to push Malfoy out of the door.

"Oh come on, Potter." He was really beginning to panic now. "Don't make me go out there alone. It's hot and it'll get dark and then it will be night and I can't be outside at night all by myself I don't like the bugs and the animals and …don't you know that most man-eaters are nocturnal! What if Dumbledore thought I'd be a great joke to put werewolves out there?"

Harry had stopped pushing somewhere in the middle of Malfoy's panic attack. It was a disturbing sight. "You have to apologize for that comment about Ron, and you have to promise to … to at least try and curb those comments about my friends while we're here. I really couldn't give a fuck what you say about me, but if you insult my friends again I'll kick you out so fast that you'll never get the purple sand out of your ass."

Draco nodded, his fingers whitening from the grip he maintained on the doorjamb. "I will, and I'm sorry … I'm sure Weasel—Ron's a…I'll stop insulting him in front of you, just don't make me…please, Potter, let me stay inside."

Harry relented and backed across the room, and Draco heaved a sigh of relief.

"Boy," Draco looked around. "When you said shack you really meant it."

Harry growled low in his throat. "I called it a _hut_."

* * *

Dinner had been an interesting meal of hard crusty bread and dried fruit. It seemed, that the return portkey was not the only thing that they had not gotten around to stocking the island with. Harry had become despondent at that point, and lay on the bed nearly comatose with worry. Draco had taken the opportunity to whine about anything that he could think of, but nothing seemed to crack Harry's shell.

When Harry finally fell asleep Draco didn't have the heart to wake him up, and whine about getting to sleep on the bed, so he curled up in a chair by the fireplace and fretted about his position. He knew, that his father would expect him to kill Potter in his sleep.

When Harry woke up in the middle of the night and saw that Draco had fallen asleep in the chair he was surprised. He nudged him gently, trying to wake him, but the boy was evidently a heavy sleeper. He debated with himself for ten minutes, but finally hauled Malfoy out of the chair and over to the bed. Draco snuggled into the covers contentedly and his eyes cracked open to stare blearily at Harry.

"It's just…" Draco mumbled. "It's just that my mummy doesn't like me to curse, and so she told me to say other things an' other things are like, oh sugar, and biscuits, and sugarplum…"

Harry laughed at the sleepy boy. "I know," he whispered.

As quietly as he could, Harry left the hut.


	4. Problems are for notkeys

**_Problems are for notkeys_**

* * *

Harry thought the hut was lovely, a heaven on earth that he'd designed himself, and though it had only three rooms it was (like most wizarding homes) much bigger on the inside than the out. The kitchen was small, but _should_ have been stocked to the hilt and plenty big enough for one person. The bathroom, he admitted to himself, was a little luxurious for a hideout, but well there were just some things that a guy had to pamper himself with. The main room, with a couple chairs around a fire (not connected to the floo network, but functioning in the old fashioned way) was cozy, and had the biggest, softest, bed that Harry had ever slept in. It was perfect, and he had almost looked forward to his eventual time in this oasis. He could even have dealt with the lack of food—hell, he'd done it before at the Dursley's—the only real mar on this perfection was, the ferret-faced blonde boy in _his_ big cozy bed.

Yeah so he'd put him there, so what? It wasn't as if he was heartless. But, Draco Malfoy would no doubt make existence on this island impossible at least figuratively, assuming he didn't try to kill Harry literally. But, Harry realized, Malfoy hadn't last night when he'd stupidly dozed off in front of him, so perhaps that wasn't really a problem. It felt good to (sort of) mark one worry off of his ever-increasing list. Still, it bothered him that Malfoy hadn't woken him up to whine about Harry taking the bed. It could be that the mini-Death Eater was trying to lull him in to a false sense of security. But, that was a problem for later. He had bigger things to wrap his mind around right now.

His newest problem—the one that he'd encountered outside— was the issue. He had tacitly decided to try to avoid thinking about it all together, because he had _no_ idea what to make of it. Somehow his plan was refusing to work, as he could think of nothing but what he'd seen when he stepped out of the cabin. So, glumly, he sat in the chair by the fire and stared into the flames, willing them to tell him how to remedy his situation. It was becoming increasingly clear that Malfoy had been right, no one was going to realize where he was, and it was quite possible that the maker of this island was insane. Harry sighed. Dumbledore should have figured out where he was by now, and as the only one that knew of the island or its location—if he didn't realize soon, then Harry didn't have high hopes for his and Malfoy's future.

He tried to decide if he should wake the boy up or let him sleep. It was a curious quandary that he never thought he'd be dealing with. To wake a sleeping Draco? All common sense advised him to stay as far away as possible. Sure, it had gone ok last night, but there was no telling what he would do if he tried to wake him now. Harry considered his options. When he was in the dorm and he wanted to wake Ron, he just threw things at him. While Ron had no problem with this strategy, Harry was sure that Malfoy would be deeply offended and start the day off in a snit if he did this. His second option, that of yelling "Malfoy!" until the boy got up, offended his sense of the islands' lush and silent calm—he owed it some respect. The third option, that of actually _touching_ Malfoy again to wake him, left Harry feeling inexplicably wiggy—so he just sat, and pondered the issue outside the cabin in wild wide-eyed, horror. All the time trying to tell himself that his worst case scenarios were defintely _not_ what was happening.

Draco eventually woke, groggy and wiping at his eyes. Harry watched him, feeling somewhat creepy for doing so. He could tell the exact moment that Malfoy remembered where he was and what was going on. The satisfied, sleepy haze lifted, his pointy little nose scrunched, and his hands flew to his hair to flatten his bed-head—there may even have been a glance around to locate his futile wand, but Harry couldn't be sure of that one.

Malfoy yawned, in that funny cat way where your jaw seems to detach entirely from your head. Harry furiously resisted the urge to smile.

"What did you go outside for last night?" he asked, yawning again halfway through.

Harry jerked back into himself, away from his funny little daydream about cat-Malfoy and extremely amusing, yet fussy, adventures. "Oh," he said, "I was, er, going to do some fishing. Try to find us some food. I saw that the tide was almost completely low when we came in, so I thought it must be high by that time of night and at least it wouldn't be hot outside so I thought, well…when would be a better time to, uh, fish?"

"What the hell is the matter with you, Babble-britches? And if you went fishing, why aren't you in the kitchen frying us up some breakfast?"

Harry scowled. "I'm not going to be your servant, Malfoy. You're the bloody reason we're here. If anything, you should be waiting on me."

"I'm the guest here!"

"Guest! You…ARGH!" Harry screamed.

Draco really tried to maintain his calm. "The fish?" he asked.

"There aren't any fish, there was no…" Harry turned his gaze fearfully towards the door.

"There was no what? I say again, what the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"We're not on the beach anymore. There was no _ocean_," he ground out.

"You said it was a sea," the correction was automatic. Internally, Draco was having a seizure.

Harry scoffed, "Yeah, there's not one of those either."

"What do you mean? How can there be no sea? Did you see _any_ sea? I mean, maybe the trees were hiding…"

"The sea?"

"Well, were they?"

"You really think I'm stupid. Fine, have a look for yourself, Malfoy," Harry walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Draco stormed off of the bed, and Harry heard him muttering loudly to himself as he went to open the cabin door about 'further insanity' and 'how defective could one island be?' and so on. Then there was the creak that was the opening of the door; then, there was silence.

Two minutes later, Harry heard Malfoy curse.

Five minutes later, he was furiously pounding on the bathroom door. "You get out here, Potter. This is all your fault. Where _are_ we? Why are we in a fucking _forest_ all of a sudden? Are there monkeys? Oh, god, please tell me that you hate monkeys—and that we're not going to meet any not-monkeys." Draco's head thumped against the bathroom door.

Harry decided, with a smirk, that this was as good a time as any to open it, and Malfoy nearly fell into the room. "Technically, they would be monkey-nots, wouldn't they? But that doesn't make sense, not really. Would they be faux-monkeys? Or maybe just notkeys. In any case I doubt we'd get close enough to see their labels."

Draco narrowed his eyes and pushed Harry roughly into the wall. "Do not mock my monkey fear, you coconut freak."

Harry shoved Malfoy away from him and slipped past him back into the main room. "Someday you're going to have to get over yourself, Malfoy. If we're here for very long it better be soon, or you'll be living with the notkeys."

Draco growled and marched into the main room, but Harry wasn't there. He must have gone outside. With a fear so deep that he didn't care to really acknowledge it, Draco joined him, praying that the shack wouldn't poof off into the ether as soon as they were both out of it at the same time. When it stayed put, he rolled his eyes at himself. The things that he suspected that old coot of a headmaster of doing were getting ridiculous.

"All right, so, all you have to do is tell me that you _really_ like a change of scenery and that you and Dumbledore planned this, and I'll be perfectly happy accepting that explanation. Ok, Potter?"

Harry grinned; he sniffed the air and detected salt. "I think we may be on the same island."

"_Tell_ me the lie, Potter."

"Dumbledore may have planned this, he likes a surprise."

"Yes, that's fascinating. Tell me that you were in on it, and you know how to stop it. We can't live in a traveling shack. It is sooo white trash."

"I was obviously _not_ in on it, Malfoy, or I would have _known_ what was going on when I came outside last night."

Draco sighed, the boy had no idea when to tell a kind lie. "Fine," he hissed. "Are we to expect a new location every night?"

Harry thought about it, and considered his knowledge of the headmaster. "I would imagine so, at least once a week."

"Fabu, so you won't be hanging our clothes outside to dry them."

"I won't be hanging _our_ clothes anywhere."

"That's ridiculous. We can't wear them wet; we'll chafe." Draco smiled.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"So, really, what're we going to do?" Draco asked.

"You're asking me?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the problem solver? Hero type, take care of all my worries?"

"Right," Harry drawled sarcastically. "I'm just like that."

"Lucky for you, I can pick up the slack. I'm hungry, that means we go and find food."

Harry shrugged, looking around helplessly. He couldn't think of anything better to do.


	5. Blue, Lagoon?

**_Blue...Lagoon?_**

* * *

"You're bloody serious aren't you?" Draco said, his voice tainted with sorrow.

"Yes, for the last time. I. Am. Serious. I didn't plan to bring a prima donna to the island with me, and this is all I have."

"But they're…blue jeans…"

"Actually we're just calling them _jeans_ these days."

"This is no joke, Potter. I can't wear these."

"Then you'll just have to wear your uniform pants for as long as we're here." Harry smiled, he knew what the answer to this would be.

"I can't do that! They're dirty! I can't wear dirty pants. Besides, they're _wool_, my ass would sweat."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Then you'll have to wear my jeans."

Draco grunted in displeasure. "I'll have to wear _jeans_."

"_My_ jeans," Harry grinned.

"Harry Potter's jeans…" Draco sighed. He walked wearily into the bathroom and closed the door with a soft snick, the very last of his dignity in shreds.

Harry cackled with glee as he changed his clothes. There was nothing better than seeing Malfoy squirm.

At least, that's what Harry thought until Malfoy came out of the bathroom wearing his jeans. His, slightly too small for Malfoy, jeans. Then the prospect of Malfoy squirming and Harry watching took on a whole new light. He blushed, and rushed out into the clearing barking at Malfoy to follow.

Draco sighed as he moved to follow Harry outside. Now he was taking orders from Potter while wearing Potter's clothes. He was officially the scarred ragamuffin's bitch. The thought depressed him in a way that he had never been depressed before. He grumbled as he walked out the door.

"You could've at least given me some bloody underwear."

Harry ignored the mention of underwear, and the idea that Draco wasn't wearing any while wearing his jeans, and the burgeoning lust that he was feeling for his sworn enemy, and the panic encroaching on his every thought, and his own fresh new insanity, as he looked around for hunting weapons. Not surprisingly, there were no weapons.

"We don't have anything to hunt with," he said.

"Hunt? Are you crazy?"

Yes, Harry thought. "No. We've got to have food."

"Well, why can't we fish?"

"Because we've no idea how far the beach is."

"Fine, we pick berries or something. I'm not hunting anything."

"Awhh," Harry cooed. "Is wittle Mawfoy afwaid of killing a wittle bunny?"

Draco sneered. "I dislike the sight of blood."

"I imagine you'll get used to it."

"What's that supposed to mean, Scarhead?"

"Nothing," Harry said, his voice low and sad. "I just remembered who you were."

Draco seethed. "You've no idea who I am, Potter, and you'd do well to remember _that_."

Harry walked away down a path and Draco saw little choice but to follow. He was furious, yes, but not furious enough to be left alone in the woods near a shack that may or may not stay put. There could be nothing in the woods more frightening than being left alone.

The depth of Harry's shock surprised even him. He had known who Malfoy was, who Malfoy was destined to be, and he had allowed himself to lust after him. After a day! One day was all it had taken for him to forget that Malfoy and his father and their master wanted to kill him, that Malfoy hated him and taunted him at every turn. That he could never _ever_ be friends with Malfoy. He wasn't even sure that he should risk trying to be cordial with him. If, he thought, he was this fickle in his emotions, he shouldn't trust himself at all. It would be best to keep up the veneer of hatred and disgust. He could ill afford to be caught off guard when Malfoy turned on him.

"What the hell are you brooding about, Potter?" Draco asked after they had walked a ways into the woods. "I'm the one that was slighted back there. I should get to be angry broody pants, not you."

"Shut-up, Malfoy. You're scaring away the notkeys and I want them to come and take you away from me."

Draco stopped. He raised an eyebrow. "Is that right? Well maybe they will. I reckon living in a shit-covered tree with chattering little hairy fleabags _would_ be better than living with you. No matter how nice the bathroom is in the shack."

"If you don't shut-up, you'll scare the berries away too." Harry groused.

Draco scowled.

The boys walked in silence for half an hour, occasionally picking some berries that looked edible, most of the time fighting. Draco was furious, and he couldn't really figure out why. He hated Potter, that much was for sure. But for some reason he found it even more offensive that Potter was actively hating him so much. It was like it was digging under his skin, and so he kept prodding Potter into larger and larger arguments. It seemed to him, that if he could just get Potter _really_ angry, then he would be able to figure out his own issues.

Eventually though, he grew tired of even that. Potter was refusing to blow up, which was just as well, since they did have to live in a very small shack together. They found a little stream, and had followed it down to a gorgeous little waterfall, and Draco was currently basking in the spray while Potter swam around in the pool like the freak that he was. Unfortunately, there didn't appear to be any fish in the pool—Draco was pretty sure that even _he_ could catch a fish in that small area, but oh well.

Everything was going just fine, which boded poorly for the rest of the day. They had enough food to eat, yes. The shack had running water, though how it managed was something beyond Draco's comprehension. They had yet to meet any sort of animals beyond a very very fuzzy caterpillar that had been resting on a leaf of one of the berry bushes. And no, Draco had NOT screamed when it brushed up against his hand.

Yes, maybe that's what was bothering him. (No, not that he screamed—because he did NOT scream). It was the fact that there didn't seem to be a lot of animals on this island. Dumbledore was a tree-hugging moron. I mean, he kept the Forbidden Forrest right on the grounds of the school; he adored the Hagrid oaf and his fondness for bizarre animals, and yet here had created an island with no animals. It just wasn't possible. There _had_ to be more than fuzzy little caterpillars. Draco actually felt the cold sweat forming under his skin before it seeped out.

"Potter!" he screamed.

Harry swam around and tried his best to ignore the blonde beast on the shore. He had learned a lesson today. You do _not_ ignore a Malfoy, but that didn't mean that it wasn't fun to goad him on by trying. It was only a matter of time before the peroxided wonder _made_ him pay attention, but until then…la la la, swimming around in circles…

"Potter…" Draco growled.

Harry sighed. That was the shot fired over the bow. The next would be a direct hit.

"Potter!" there was a definite ear-twanging screech in that one. It hurt.

"What, Malfoy?" Harry grumbled.

"Don't you mumble! Shut up! I hear you mumbling about me."

Harry mumbled. "Stupid Malfoy stupid island stupid Dumbledore stupid blonde prick of a stupid…"

"Stop it! That is so annoying."

"What do you want?" Harry barked. "I was having a good time, in case you missed that."

"Yes you looked spectacularly entertained, swimming in circles like a retarded rubber ducky, but this might be important."

"Might? Don't you think you should make sure it _is_ important before you bother me with it?"

"Oh you think you're so high and…" Draco took a deep breath. "It _is_ important. I was just sitting here, and I was just wondering, where are the bloody animals?"

Harry heaved himself onto the rock shore of the little pond and sat beside Malfoy. "What do you mean? We met your little friend the caterpillaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!" Harry giggled.

Draco frowned. "Ponce."

Harry scoffed. "Pot," he said.

"Shut-up."

Laughing, Harry asked, "Ok, I give, what do you mean, 'Where are the animals'?"

Draco explained, about Dumbledore and the caterpillar, and the giant and as he did he saw Harry's face change. Initial boredom and that slightly patronizing look that the git always had, began to change. His eyebrows grew closer together, his forehead seemed to shrink and crinkle, and a tinge of red began to spread over his face—right before his cold sweat broke through.

"Did you feel it forming?" Draco asked.

"What?"

"Your sw…Oh nevermind."

"Yeah. Right. Oh god. What if they're like… all intelligent and they're waiting until we relax and then they're going to attack us?"

"Huh? Who?"

"The animals!" Harry screamed.

Draco laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter. Dumbledore wouldn't put you on an island full of sentient animals that could make plans and attack you."

Harry squeaked.

"Oh my god, he would, wouldn't he?"

"No…?"

Draco sat frozen in his place. He stared off into space. Harry poked him.

"Say something you git," Harry whispered. "What do you think we should do?"

Draco didn't respond.

Harry poked him again, this time in the soft little underbelly.

"Oi! Stop it."

"Well, what do you think we should do?"

"I think," Draco said, "that we should get up slowly, and hope that the thing over there doesn't have really good hearing, or doesn't speak English."

Harry turned, slowly as you're supposed to in these situations, and laid eyes on his first blue deer. "Whoa," he said.

"Uh huh."

"Blue."

"Indigo, I'd call it."

"Pretty."

"If you say so."

"Doesn't look mean."

"Doesn't look friendly either."

"Huh."

"What?"

"Blue deer."

"Yes, we established that, Potter."

"It's just…why?"

Draco sighed. "One may never know the inner workings of the Headmaster's mind. I doubt that we'd really want to."

Harry nodded. "Scary."


	6. Oh, Ewh

**_Oh...OH. Ewhh._**

* * *

"Malfoy?" Harry said, a speculative tone to his voice. "Do you suppose blue deer is edible?"

"I _told_ you, Potter, I'm not killing anything."

"You don't have to kill it."

Draco's eyes widened in shock. "Surely a goody like you wouldn't suggest that we lop a piece of it off to eat and leave the rest of it to walk around the forest? For one thing, the amount that we would have to cut off would be a pretty severe wound and…"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I meant that you wouldn't have to _personally_ kill it."

"Oh…Oh. Ewhh."

Harry sighed. "Do you think it's edible?"

Draco shrugged. "I guess. As edible as any venison is. Though, deer aren't really native to tropical islands with weird non-tropical forests so …who knows what that thing really is."

Harry hmm'd in answer.

"Potter, you're not really thinking of murdering that thing are you? I mean I'm not _that_ hungry. We could go awhile before things like that are necessary and I'm sure that we'll be saved before we have to become such savages."

"We could get too weak to hunt if we wait too long, then we'd starve to death. I've done some starving in my life, Malfoy. It's not fun, and you get weak…really fast."

Draco looked at Harry's back quizzically as Harry walked around the edge of the pool, trying to get closer to the blue deer. He'd no idea what scar-head planned to do since they didn't have any weapons, but he felt compelled to watch all the same. Anyway, when had Potter starved? He had to be making that up.

The deer simply stood there and regarded the two humans curiously. Clearly they were contemplating eating him, but the deer was used to that—people always wanted to eat him. The dark boy was headed in his direction but appeared unarmed, so he wasn't worried. The light boy looked foolish, his face screwed up in some expression that the deer didn't care about, because he was unable to read expressions. Snorting, he returned to the grasses beside the pool.

"Potter, just what are you planning to do?" Draco called.

Harry shushed him and sent him an angry glare.

Draco flopped back down on the rock they'd been sitting on, and hurt his bum a little.

Harry meanwhile had reached the deer and was tentatively extending his hand. He wasn't sure really, why he felt the need to touch the deer—beyond the fact that it really was very pretty.

The deer regarded the dark one warily. He knew much of humans from the ancient teachings of his race, and he knew well that even if they looked harmless they may be very dangerous indeed. The dark one wanted to touch him, and he thought he shouldn't allow it, but really—it was such a cute little thing. Beautiful with it's black and white fur. But what strange markings it had! The deer remained still as the dark one's hoof extended towards him, what could the harm be?

Harry sighed as his fingers touched the dark fur. It was so beautiful. Never had he seen an indigo (as Malfoy rightly called it) so dark and rich. The variations in the fur, from light to dark, lent the deer a shimmery effect that in his youth he would have attributed to fairies and secretive little butterflies. The deer's horns, which had appeared almost black from the other side of the pool, were stunning shades of purple and blue swirled into impressive points. It was a funny thing to think, but he had never witnessed something so magical. Peering into the deer's eyes was like looking back for centuries, understanding things that perhaps man wasn't meant to understand. Harry laughed, which was perhaps not his first mistake this day, but was certainly the most costly.

The deer shied away from the dark one. It was making a strange noise and the deer was sure that it was some sort of signal to bring on the gun or the knife or the arrow or any of the other things that the humans were depicted killing his kind with in the chronicles. He had been saved, brought here by the great white one himself, and given his beautiful coat. He would not go down now. Not ever. He bucked, and he gored, and the dark one screamed and fell. The light one jumped up and again his face was twisted in a way that the deer wished he could understand, but could not. The light one screamed, and ran towards them waving his arms. The deer turned, and fled.

"Oh fuck, Potter, you look terrible."

Harry smiled up at Malfoy. "You're ugly as sin yourself, Malfoy."


	7. Rolling Downhill

slapstick! with wounds!

**_Rolling Downhill_**

* * *

Draco stared down at where Harry lay sprawled beside the small pool, a worried expression in his eyes.

"Potter, don't be alarmed, but I think you may be wounded."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes at me! I'm the one that has to look at the mess you've made of yourself."

"Oh quit being so dramatic, Malfoy. If it were really bad I'd be in shock, and I'm fine. I can't feel anything."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You can't feel anything, you say? Like for instance, you can't feel the giant gaping hole in your shoulder?"

Harry jerked his head off of the ground in an attempt to see the wound and immediately felt the consequences.

"Oh my God! That stupid smurf deer bit me!"

"It didn't _bite_ you, you moron. It _gored_ you with one of its 'oh it's so pretty I've got to touch it,' _horns_."

"Shut-up."

"Fine. I'll sit here and be quiet while you bleed to death."

"Good. You do that."

"Great."

"…"

"…"

"Malfoy?"

"What, Potter?"

"My arm hurts!"

"Well don't whine at me about it."

"Who else am I going to whine at?"

"Why don't you tell the great blue wonder? I'm sure it'll be back to finish you off soon."

"You don't think it'll really come back? Do you?"

"No."

"But what if it does! What if it just went to get all of its family so that they could share me!"

"Potter, deer are herbivores. Hence its interest in the _grass_, before you disturbed it."

"But like you said they're not native! It might be some sort of freakish carnivore deer!"

"Again, I point at the grass it was eating."

"We have to get out of here!"

"Shut-up, Potter. Panicking is only going to make you bleed to death faster. Oh, wait, no, go ahead and panic. I bet that deer and its entire herd are packing their steak knives right now. They're coming, Potter, and they're going to eat you up, and you're going to be all alone when you die because I'm going back to the hut now." Draco got up and dusted off his pants. Cringing in horror at the texture of the denim.

"Malfoy…" Harry whined.

"Oh shut-up, ya pansy. I wasn't really going to leave you here. Though God knows why not."

Harry cracked a pained grin. "It's because you lurrrrrve me, you want to maaaaarrrry me. You wanna be my beeeeeeestttttt frieeeeeenddd."

Draco's face curled in on itself so far that Harry was afraid it was going to turn inside out completely. He cackled with glee.

"Scarhead, if you don't promise me to never, ever, say something like that again, I really will leave you here to die. And believe me, it's not the deer that's going to eat you, it's going to be bugs—that's much slower and more painful. But no worries, because like I said, you'd bleed to death first."

Harry tried his best to look contrite. "I promise, I'll never say it again."

Draco looked suspicious. "Ok, then you should try to get up."

The going was surprisingly slow, to Draco at least. Harry thought that it felt like they were running a marathon around the island.

"I _know_ that the bloody hut was this way, and if you don't stop questioning me in that horrible squeaky whine of yours, I will stone you—no, I will coco-not you to death."

"Malfoy, I—I can't breathe. Somethin's wrong."

"Of course something is wrong," Draco answered, his voice only slightly shaky. "You're bleeding quite a lot. First, you'll get dehydrated, and will feel very very bad, and then, and then you'll die, and … and I _told you_ that I don't like the sight of blood!"

"Yes, well pardon me for," Harry gasped, "for showing you my blood when you didn't want to see it."

Draco scoffed. "Ok, there's nothing for it. I thought we'd be back to the shack by now but…well anyway, we're going to have to try to do something about the, the er, the bleeding."

He steered them towards a fallen tree and Harry plopped heavily onto the log. He was a weird color, Draco noted, something between green and blue. Sighing, Draco wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand and looked around. He had no idea what to do, and this was a first. If only his wand worked, he would have been able to fix Harry up with no problems whatsoever. He tried desperately to remember something from Herbology that might help, but nothing was coming to mind.

Harry waved a hand absently at a nearby plant. "The leaves," he said, clinging to the log, trying not to give into the nausea and pass out. "Pick those leaves and chew on them a bit." He was only mildly surprised when Malfoy immediately headed towards the shrub.

"If you knew what to do, Potter, why didn't you say something before."

"Didn't think it was so bad. I have first-aid at the hut."

"Yes, well you're stupid. You seriously want me to _chew_ these things?" he held up a handful of leaves.

"You have to, saliva and the sap--they numb and help clotting."

"Revolting."

"It's not like I love the idea of your spit in my wound."

Draco cringed.

Harry grinned lazily. "All mixed up with my blood, forming scabs and working its way into my system."

Draco gagged, then glared at Harry and resolutely shoved the leaves into his mouth and chewed. "Thish ishn't gnna do anythin weird to me ish it?"

Harry laughed and gave a pained groan. "No. Well, nothing too bad anyway. You may feel a little—relaxed."

Draco spat the leaves into his hand. "You've got me chewing _drugs_?"

Harry nodded.

"You are such a bastard, Potter!" Draco roughly pulled Harry's shirt aside and shoved some of the leaf/spit into the wound.

Harry grimaced, and scooped the rest of the mixture out of Malfoy's hand, pushing him away. "I'll do that, thanks."

Draco shrugged and turned his back to the boy, horrified by what he'd just done. Once he'd calmed he turned back, only to see Harry sloppily trying to get the mixture into and around the exit wound on his back. He sighed. "Let me do it, Potter. I'll be nicer."

Harry hung his head and gave a slight nod.

Malfoy gasped when he looked at Harry's back, which to Harry was a sign that everything was not of the good. He couldn't really bring himself to care right now though. He was so lightheaded, that he barely felt anything at all anymore. He may even have nodded off.

"Potter, wake up ya git. I'm not gonna bloody carry yous and we haves to get back to the shack before dark. Do we all remembers what maybe happens to the shack at nighttime kiddos?"

Harry squinted. Something was wrong with Malfoy. "D'you get goreded?" he slurred.

Malfoy giggled. "Goreded? Naw. 'S yer stupid druuuuuugssss, Moron. Knew'd I shoulda made you chew em."

"Shoulda shoulda coulda."

Malfoy giggled again. Harry rather liked that sound.

"Hey, Potty, we should take more of the leaveses with us, for like _later_."

"Yeah. Yeah we should. You are so smart. I mean, you're like the smartest boy ever. I'd say you were the smartest thing, but then there's Hermi….Hermoi…God, her name is so shtupid."

Draco snorted. "'S a flower, Dumbaasssss. Bass...baaasssssss…."

"Okey dokey," Harry heaved himself into a sitting position. At some point they'd fallen off the log. "Lets get our leaves and skeedaddle."

Malfoy giggled as he crawled over to the shrub and stuffed his pockets full of leaves. "When we get home I'm gonna plant this in mum's garden. She'll like, it's all pretty and shtuff."

Harry laughed. "S'illegal."

"Sho? I does illegals all the time."

Harry sniggered. "Shtupid crook."

"I'm not a crock!"

"Croooook."

"Oh."

"We have to go. That deer'll be back soon. He was all plotty, I can tell. He's planning."

"Yeah, shit. Le's go."

"Goin."

"Yup."

"Malfoy?"

"Wha?"

"Where we goin?"


	8. Which way do we go?

**_Which way do we go?_**

* * *

"Malfoy?" Harry slurred, "Where we goin' again?"

Draco sighed. Unfortunately he had sobered up on their walk, but Potter was still delirious—it couldn't mean good things. On top of that, the sun was setting, and for the life of him he could _not_ find their cabin. "We're going back to the cabin, you git. Where else would we go?"

"You're so smelly, Malfoy." Harry mumbled into his shoulder.

"Why thank you, asshole." As if it wasn't bad enough that Draco was having to practically carry the bastard, now he had to suffer being reminded that he reeked.

Harry grinned lazily. "Not bad smelly, but like a good smelly. Like a towel."

Draco snorted. "Well it's a rather good thing that you're a drip then, isn't it?"

"Huh?"

"Well, I like to think that I'm a useful towel."

"You're so weird," Harry slurred.

"I'm not weird, it's just that you're so dense you can't possibly understand me." Draco said lightly, then frowned.

"Yeah, s'good though. Makes you all mysterious and stuff."

Draco stopped walking and stared at Harry. "You think that I'm _mysterious_, and that it is a good thing?"

"Well, yeah."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "How long have you and Dorothy been friends?" he asked.

Harry frowned and shoved himself away from Malfoy, but he didn't have the strength to stand on his own, and fell down. "Her name's Hermione," he groused.

Draco was quite sure he had never laughed so hard in his life. In fact, he probably would have continued until he died from it, had Potter not made an interesting discovery.

"Hey," Harry said, holding up a strange stick/plant contraption. "Here's the fishin' net I tried to make this mornin'." He grinned sloppily at Draco. "We're home."

Draco looked around the clearing. He couldn't deny any longer that it did look familiar. They were home. Only, there was no home. The cabin had poofed after all.

"But I _can't_, Malfoy," Harry whined.

"You can. Get up."

"No. I'm tired. I'm not walkin all the way back to that stupid waterfall. 's nighttime. We need to go to sleep."

"We _can't_ sleep in the open, Potter!" Draco was whining a bit himself now, "and there was a bit of a cave behind the waterfall. It's the only other shelter I've seen, and we're going to need water."

"There's water in the cabin," Harry yawned.

"I can't find the bloody fucking cabin!"

"Wha?"

There was no way around it, Draco was going to panic. Potter had been getting more and more sleepy and unresponsive, and now he couldn't get the git to even care that they were homeless. Honestly, it may be something that Potter was used to but it was a new thing for him.

Perfect, now Potter was asleep, or possibly dead. Draco bent down and put two fingers under Harry's jawline and pushed in. He was relieved to find a pulse, but no amount of shaking seemed to be enough to wake him.

Draco stood up and looked around, bloody perfect. He was in the middle of the woods with an unconscious invalid and he had no fecking idea what to do. Obviously he couldn't just pass out like Potter had. He'd never get to sleep while worrying about all the bugs and the monkeys (because there had to be monkeys) and, ok—he was a little worried that the caterpillar would find him and crawl up his nose and have little fuzzy babies.

He shuddered. There was nothing for it, he'd have to leave Potter and look for the cabin on his own.


	9. All who wander

**_All who wander_**

* * *

If Draco tried very hard, he could remember a time when he had been as scared as he was right now.

He was doing the best that he could. He'd set Potter up against a tree, but he hadn't had anything to cover him up or protect him with, and his inner polite aristocrat was revolted.

Ok, so he'd been a little reluctant to leave Potter lying about in the woods, but he wouldn't want to leave anyone like that—let alone his only company on this stupid island. Anyway he would only be gone a few hours, and he had walked due North, there was no way (he told himself) that he could lose Potter if he walked in a straight line. No way at all.

Though walking in a straight line was bound to be unprofitable to his goal. That stupid hut could be anywhere, and Draco had a suspicion that this island changed its size any time it pleased. After all, they had walked halfway around it in less than an hour, and the way to the waterfall had been less than two, but the walk back had taken them four hours at least. True, they had taken that er…time out, but it still should not have taken so long. Besides, he had been walking for at least an hour now in a steady direction and he had yet to leave the woods.

He decided he would never walk through the woods at night by himself anymore as well. He was petrified on so many levels by noises and glimpses of animals, and the fact that Potter was going to probably die before he could find some first aid or help that he was barely functioning as a human—much less to the levels he was accustomed to expecting from himself.

Draco was leaning against a tree taking a small break, peering back into the woods in the direction he had come from as if he might see Potter propped against the tree where he had left him. He'd been trying to shake this urge, the inane wish to go back and check on Potter before he searched any further, all night. It'd be pointless to turn back every few steps. The tree felt strange behind him, spongy and cold to the touch. Every now and then it made a strange rustling noise and he wondered idly what sort of tree it was. He glanced up into the branches to try and identify it and gasped at what he saw. What a flipping enormous fairy!

Sure, he knew all about the fairy folk, he was a wizard after all…and he was used to all manner of magical creatures hanging about everywhere, but _this_ was clearly something out of the headmaster's mind alone. She was huge, the branch bending beneath her weight as she peered down at him. Her nose came to a point and she resembled nothing more than a giant cat with wings. For a moment Draco felt ferret-like terror at the sight of her.

Opening his mouth he tried very desperately to get some sort of sound to come out of it, in any of the four languages he spoke, but nothing came. All his years of breeding and training and sneering and teasing and veritable verbal diarrhea had come to this—he had nothing to say to an enormous fairy.

She smiled then, and her teeth were as purple as her hair. What was it with the headmaster and the color purple? When she spoke, her voice was more like water running over a beaver's dam than any voice he had ever heard. It was broken and gushed in places, but it had a constant flow.

"What would _I_ have to say to an enormous fairy?" she asked, and giggled.

Draco scowled. "I'm not a fairy."

"Aren't you?"

His frown deepened. "Could you help me?" he asked contemptuously. "My friend is injured and we've lost our hut."

"Why would I help a rude little fairy?"

"Because he asked."

"Did he ask nicely, as though he thought she could really help?"

Draco sighed. What was she? The question fairy?

She smiled again and ruffled her blue wings. "Yes!" she laughed.

"But that wasn't a question."

She shrugged. "What would she do if she could only have one word that wasn't a question?"

"Ahh," he said, and rubbed his eyes. "A mind-reading question fairy was just what I needed right now."

"Would you call her Alicia?"

Draco sighed. He bowed slightly and did a flourish with his right hand. "Draco Malfoy is pleased to meet you, Alicia. Now, could you possibly help me and my friend? He was gored by that blue deer, and I think he's probably bleeding to death in a clearing back there."

"Did she already know his friend needed help? Has she already been watching you since you came in the forest? Has she already carried your friend to the cave behind the waterfall for you?" She smiled.

"Wait, can't you just tell me where the hut is?"

"Is it still on the island? Has it left her realm of vision?"

"You can't leave the woods?"

"Yes!" she laughed. "Is Draco Malfoy always this clever?"

Draco smiled slightly. "Of course he is!"

Alicia raised her eyebrows and let out a delicate snort. "What is in his pockets for 'like laaater'?"

He flushed and looked down at the ground. "That was entirely Potter's fault."

"Yes!" she agreed.

Draco thought he might truly like this fairy, enormous or not.

Alicia snorted. She fluttered her wings and descended from the tree with surprising grace, given her size. "Would he like her if she wasn't helping him?"

Draco frowned. "Possibly."

Alicia smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. Draco felt some of the tiredness seep out of his bones, but not nearly enough.

"Thank you," he moaned.

She nodded, but looked at him seriously. "Is it possible that there are two men in these woods who are looking for you and your friend?"

Draco brightened. "Is one of them your creator?"

Alicia's nose seemed to bend down slightly and her eyes shown with anger. "Was she created by the Dumbledore, or did he just give her a new home?"

"A new home, of course, I'm sorry." Draco almost felt sincere. It seemed to be enough.

"Will you ask her the question again?"

"Is one of the men Dumbledore?"

"Does Dumbledore wear a black hood, a mask like dry bone? Does Dumbledore have hair of raven black, or gold spun?"

Draco gasped. "Where are these men?"


	10. Family Relations

_**Family Relations**_

* * *

Draco was inordinately glad that the enormous fairy was stealthier than she looked. She fluttered impatiently above him, pointing frantically at the beach with one hand and holding a finger over her mouth with the other. He nodded at her and sighed to himself, as he crept towards the edge of the trees. AhhhhhHaaa! _there_ was the stupid hut. Oh, but there were the two men as well. They appeared to be peeking into his and Potter's hut. What pervs. One of the men turned slightly and the moon cast its light down the side of his face. Yes, just as Draco had thought, it was his father. After all, who but a Malfoy would have hair that could qualify for the description "like gold spun"?

Draco was relieved, his father would certainly know how to get him off of this stupid island, and Draco would just tell Dumbledore where Potter was when he got back to Hogwarts. Simple and easy—the best kind of plan. He took a step forward, intending to rush over to his father and fall at his feet (provided the man had some fresh clothes for him, or at the very least a bar of chocolate) when the other man turned as well and Draco realized who it was. He quailed. McNair, the executioner. Draco shivered. They called McNair that for all sorts of reasons, not the least of which his job for the Department of Magical Creatures. Still, if his father was with him then there couldn't be any sinister reason for his appearance on the island. Certainly Lucius was come to look for him. McNair must just be there for…support?

Of course he knew he was lying to himself. Draco sighed and slumped back against a coconot tree, setting off an avalanche of the horrid things. Ok, perhaps not an avalanche, two fell.

"What was that?" McNair hissed at Lucius.

"Coconuts, obviously."

_Coco-nots_, Draco mentally corrected.

McNair raised an eyebrow at Lucius. "Don't you think you should be just a little more suspicious? One might think you don't really want to find that boy of yours."

"Don't be ridiculous," Lucius flipped his hair. "I have every intention of finding my son, and if he's with that Potter brat when I find him, and the Potter boy is still alive, I'll help you finish the job."

McNair cackled coldly. "You expect me to believe you'd kill your own bratling?"

"It's what My Lord orders."

"You are too liberal with your interpretation of my orders, Luuciuuss." Voldemort's hated voice slid down Draco's spine.

Lucius turned and bowed slightly at the dark form emerging from around the side of the hut.

"Apologies, My Lord."

Voldemort waved him off. "I simply said that if we find your son and Potter in cahoots, that the Malfoy line would be in great peril. I don't believe I specified that it was your _son_ who would be punished."

Draco saw an icy smile begin to bloom on McNair's face, before he checked his father's reaction. Lucius appeared as cold as stone, if slightly blue around the lips. But then, perhaps that was a trick of the moonlight.

"Of course, I'm sorry." Lucius agreed.

"Naturally though," Voldemort added. "We'll have to kill the boy as well."

"Y-yes, naturally."

Draco's eyes widened as he heard his father stammer.

Voldemort's gaze shifted to the trees. "If the boy were to come forward, and hand Potter over, then I'm sure he could be salvaged for some use."

Lucius followed his master's gaze toward the forest and took a step towards it. McNair reached out and put a hand across his chest to hold him back. "If the _boy_ were to come _forward_," he hissed.

Draco stared at the three men. He tried to take a step back, but was already pressed against the tree. His father couldn't be serious? He expected Draco to either kill one of his classmates or be killed? His father expected him to willingly consent in the real live death of… a person? It was all well and good to posture about mudbloods and muggles but…his father couldn't actually be a murderer? Could he? Draco gasped. He was. Everything anyone'd said about Lucius was true.

Even as Draco thought it he felt the first familiar tingles of his father's legilemency push against his mind. For once, Draco let the man see what he was thinking. _My father, murderer, Voldemort, kill me, kill Potter, Dad._ He felt Lucius recoil from his mind, then push again with fear, anger, horror, pleading that Draco would understand. He didn't mean it, he wouldn't do it, but he was a murderer, and it was either Potter or Draco—or both. Draco shook his head and threw up his mental defenses, then he turned his back and ran.

* * *

Draco ran. He ran straight past Alicia even though she fluttered at him and motioned for him to stop. The last thing he needed right now was incessant questioning. He had to get back to the waterfall. Or no, he couldn't go back to the waterfall. Voldemort and his lackeys—Draco cringed, _his father_ —were certainly tracing him. He couldn't go back to the waterfall directly or they would know where Potter was.

Draco stopped. He realized then that he'd made a choice, a choice that he hadn't even really had to think about. Everything that Voldemort was, was wrong. He had chosen Potter's side, had even chosen to protect Potter. He'd thrown away his father.

That stung. Part of him still wanted to turn around and go back. The hell with the rest of the world, the hell with Potter and muggles and mudbloods; he wanted his Dad back. All of his life his father had been this mythic man, an actor on the stage of life. Draco had admired the way that his father could effortlessly portray one face in public, and shed it the moment he got behind the walls of his home. Well, imagine that, the outer façade wasn't such an act after all. All of his life, Draco had admired a man who would lie to his own family, and would murder to play his part.

Draco felt bile rise in his throat and bent over to puke into a nearby fern. When he gathered himself and sat back up, he glanced around and realized he was completely lost. He'd run off in no direction, often changed directions, and now he had no direction. No idea even, of where the beach and the "baddies" were. He sat down in the dirt, flicking some vomit off of his sleeve and buried his face in his hands. Potter was probably dying, or would be found and would die. He himself was lost in the woods with three men who would kill him when they found him, he reeked, and he just really wanted Dumbledore to show up and take him away from it all. Dumbledore had promised once, that it was as easy as saying the word, for Draco to be free. Sitting alone in a strange, not to mention bizarre, forest, he wished very hard that he had said the word. Nothing happened.

He felt Alicia fluttering above him before he heard her. She was amazing, and thankfully quiet in more ways than one. She landed beside him and cooed wordless comfort into his ear as she petted his back. Draco was never one for crying, so he didn't, but the body wracking sobs were there nonetheless. It didn't seem to matter that they were dry and hot. Alicia patted his back harder when he had trouble catching his breath, and imbued him with soothing magic until he calmed.

"Are you ready now?" she finally asked.

Draco looked up at her and sighed. He nodded. He didn't know what she was asking, but he was ready for something.

Alicia placed a hand on either side of his face and held his head so that he looked into her eyes. She smiled, and kissed his forehead softly. "Yes," she said, almost sadly.

He felt magic of some kind pouring into him, and Draco leaned into her hands as he fell asleep.


End file.
